


so much like a man

by worth_the_risk



Series: could still be what you want to. [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Confrontation, Overdose - Aftermath, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7963006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worth_the_risk/pseuds/worth_the_risk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm not very good at asking for help.”</p><p>“I wonder where you got that from.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	so much like a man

Alicia stretched and stood. “I’m going to go cook dinner and Skype your aunt.” She pressed a kiss into his hair and grabbed her glass from the coffee table. “Need anything, loves?” When both men shook their heads no, she walked out, stopping to kiss her husband’s cheek before she left the room. The silence that fell in her absence was heavy on Jack’s chest.

“Well,” Bob said, clapping both of his hands on the arms of his chair and rising. “It’s about time I–”

Jack bristled, breath huffing out of him.

“What, Jack?”

“ _It feels like you’ve been avoiding being alone with me since I came home._ ”

Bob sank back down into his armchair, brow knitted into a solid line. “ _That’s not true, Jack._ ”

“ _Name once it’s been just the two of us in the last week. Hmm?”_ The determination on his father’s face faltered. “ _Exactly.”_ Jack pulled one of the throw pillows against his chest, hugging it tightly.

_“Our schedules have just been off, son, that’s all.”_

_“Maman took time off of work. Why didn’t you? It’s not like you can’t. You run the foundation.”_

_“When one of us takes time off, the other really can’t, Jack.”_

_“I’m your son, not your show dog.”_ The words were out of his mouth and slapping his father across the face before he could stop himself. Bob recoiled, eyes wide.

_“I don’t know what you mean, Jack.”_

_“I mean,”_ Jack paused and took a deep, shaky breath. He needed to express himself clearly, not just bark at his father. “I mean you’ve always been there to celebrate when I’ve done well, when I’ve succeeded. But every time I trip and fall? It’s been Maman helping me back up. My whole life. Either because you were physically not there or because you chose to not engage, for whatever reason.” Bob shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t and can’t know why until you choose to tell me.  I’m much better about not filling in the blanks on my own now. Most of the time, anyway.” He fell quiet, fighting the knot in his throat. “Why do you think I work so hard? Push myself so much?” His eyes blurred and a tear skittered down his cheek.

Bob’s face crumpled in on itself and he rose from his chair and fled the room. Jack threw the pillow he’d been hugging onto the floor and leaned back against the couch, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He’d known this conversation was going to suck. He’d been preparing for it for weeks, talking about it with Annette, going over his father’s possible reactions and how Jack should choose to respond to them. Bad Bob Zimmermann zipping out of the room with his tail between his legs had not been one of the responses they’d discussed. Anxiety was invading his chest, overinflating the cavity, making him ache. Nostrils flaring, he started trying to count out his breaths. _In five, out eight. In five, out eight._ He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands and froze.  His father was standing in the doorway, opening and closing his fists and staring resolutely at the floor.

“ _Papa, come here.”_

Bob looked up at his son, face tight and uncomfortable with shame. He took a tentative step before he committed, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the couch. Jack peeked out from between his fingers at his father. “ _Count to five, and then to eight. Slowly. Please.”_

Bob took a shaky breath and started counting. _“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.”_

 _“Great. Can you put your arm around me? Just the one. Both and I’ll choke.”_ Bob wrapped his hand around his son’s far shoulder, softly pulling him closer.

They sat like that for almost twenty minutes before Jack took a thick breath and sat up, staying close enough that his father’s arm stayed around his shoulders. “Thank you, Papa.”

“No, thank you, Jack. I - I do better when someone can talk me through what I'm supposed to do.”

“I'm not very good at asking for help.”

“I wonder where you got that from.” Bob’s hand tightened on Jack’s bicep.

Jack took another handful of increasingly steady breaths and closed his eyes before speaking again. “I need you to stop being so distant. I need you to be here when this happens, because it’s going to. A lot. I know I can trust Maman. Right now, I don’t feel like I can trust you and I don’t like that. When I was three, I put up no fight when you wanted to strap blades to my feet and drag me around the pond in the backyard because I knew with all my heart that you wouldn’t let me get hurt and stay hurt. I want that back.” He was crying again, but it was slower now. “I don’t want to feel like I’m carrying a yoke across my shoulders when I pull my jersey on anymore.”

Bob’s breath was shaky. Jack waited for him to try and  halfheartedly apologize, pry himself out of the situation, try to ease the obvious discomfort they were both stewing in. “Okay, son.”

Jack’s eyes flew open. “Okay?”

“You’re right. I’ll do better.” He paused and turned to cup Jack’s face in his hands and brush his thumbs over the tear tracks. “Thank you.”

Jack coughed and looked down at his lap, at his tightly knitted hands, and nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song 'cat's in the cradle' by harry chapin.  
> anything in italics is in french.


End file.
